Untitled Duck Poem

This poem is sponsored by two ducks, a tote and a riverbed. By which you want most out of life, which right now, in this instance, is an ice cream cone and a friend. And maybe the ability to make grass sing. Not one but two golden retrievers run into each other in this poem. “Go for a swim,” this poem tells its friend and the dogs. Go to the first line of this poem again. Replace “sponsored” with “loved.” This poem is learning love is a lot like days spent in the sun. Sprawling. Aimless. Silly. There is a lot to learn still. Sometimes we have to run, pull our blanket to the shade, grab chapstick to protect our lips from the sun. But the sun means there is so much of the day left to learn. This poem loves learning. This poem loves wandering, like two ducks or a river. This poem hopes learning is always like love, like a tote big enough to carry all the questions in the world. This poem is learning the names of trees. “I don’t know if it’s a maple—I haven’t been here to see it turn red in the fall.” This poem hopes we return, learn, remember the questions we asked, even if the return comes in another lifetime—even if we return not as humans but as ducks, or as small and important as the tadpoles. This poem asks the question that returns—and the question asks the poem, “Can ducks fly?” or the most important question in the world, “Can we?”